


Chaos

by daretogobeyondtheunknown



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11808159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daretogobeyondtheunknown/pseuds/daretogobeyondtheunknown
Summary: And she’s so scared to get close to anyone because everyone that ever said I’ll be there left.- unknown





	1. At first Chaos came to be…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > And she’s so scared to get close to anyone because everyone that ever said I’ll be there left. 
>> 
>> \- unknown

She was leaving.

Like a whirlwind, Veronica Lodge had torn through her life. She had uprooted the very foundation upon which Betty thought she once stood. It was shattering, revealing and slowly rebuilding.

And now, she was leaving, rushing out as chaotically she had arrived. The foundation she had helped mold felt weak; brittle and uncertain.

As the others offered farewells and sincere wishes, Betty withdrew. It was impossible to breathe and the room was quickly becoming all too small. At least outside the sky didn’t feel like it would collapse.

* * *

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Betty could hear the rain drops pitter-pattering against the shingling - an addition Archie had made one summer with the scraps from one of his father’s work sites. He had been so proud, boasting to Jughead and herself from his perch atop their childhood treehouse.  

It was a secret place; Veronica was never supposed to know. 

“Do you know how difficult it is to climb in a skirt and heels?”

Betty should have felt some form of glee; relished in the discomfort and the difficulty. 

But it was Veronica and Veronica was leaving and Betty felt like she was breaking all over again. None of this was supposed to hurt and Betty wished she could run. _Again._  If only to temporarily alleviate the ache. 

“B?”

It was a gentle touch and it unfurrowed her body unconsciously. She felt like a sunflower, Veronica her sun. 

“I- I hate you.” 

The words were croaked and through blinding tears Betty clawed Veronica close. It hurt - the way her fingers dug deep. But it could never hurt as much as it did inside, the walls of her heart crumbling. Piece by piece. 

* * * 

Veronica left just as she had come - chaotic, uprooting and tormenting in a way Betty had never understood. 

Graduation felt hollow and no amount of reassurance from Kevin or attention from Archie could fill it. Jughead in all his benevolence had called it a V shaped hole and Betty wished she could hate him. 


	2. But next came Gaia...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > She made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible. She walked with the Universe on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings.
>> 
>> \- Ariana Dancu

“Happy birthday, Elizabeth.”

The words felt forced. It made her cringe and desire safe haven. They represented a foundation Betty wanted to loath; a feeling of insignificance bore into her very being through repetition.

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses.” 

But there were the expectations and appearances and heaven forbid Betty break them.

“That Lodge girl was trouble.”

Betty smiled, tight lipped and jagged. If Veronica was trouble then perhaps this was Hell.

* * *

New York was terrifying.

It was everything Riverdale wasn’t. Where Riverdale was an unnerving calm - a tight lipped facade - New York was alight with chatter and all too harsh realities.

But maybe that was what she needed. Because if Betty imagined hard enough, New York felt like slender arms, sarcastic wit and familiarity.

If only it could consume her.

* * *

“Elizabeth, you return home thi-”

Hesitant fingers danced over the screen, the only source of illumination in an all too dark room. Outside the city continued on unnerved by the threats and unease. 

Riverdale was crumbled foundations and weak resolve. It was nightmares and regrets. It was a life Betty no longer wanted to live. And so she shivered under the thin scraps of a blanket unable to afford the luxury of heat or the sight of electricity to light. 

But she was free and it felt a little like healing and maybe one day like happiness. 

* * * 

“So what’s it like? Where you’re from?”

It was an earnest curiosity but it turned her stomach like the soured milk or week old dinner she’d scarfed down hours ago.

Through the grease and the layers of grime that clung to her skin Betty smelt the tall trees, clear skies and expensive perfumes. But if Betty was honest, everything smelt a little like trails of expensive perfume and crumbling resolve.

“It was… Quiet. Small.” 

In the constant chatter of New York streets outside, the inside of the run down diner at a momentary lull, something about quiet and small seemed perfect. 

“Gosh honey, all that? You must really have hated something to come all that way for _this_.” 

This was the tall urban jungle sprawled across miles and miles in varying degrees of grunge. It was the grime that clung to her skin after a long nights work, underpaid and always on the verge of exhaustion. It was the smoke that clouded the booths and pooled back into the kitchens and into her very pores. 

But hate was a strong emotion and Betty remembered the large open lanes, the treehouse built in childhood, and the time spent with her father under the hoods of run down cars. There was nothing about it Betty had hated per se. 

“Not really.” 

It was the feelings of insecurity, the ever oppressing hold, and the stifling feeling of loss. 

“I just… I needed a chance. To do this on my own.” 

The arms were warm, comforting. It was everything the falsetto embrace of her mother or the hummed involvement of her father in her life wasn’t. It felt like honesty and nothing like appearances or expectation. 

“Oh honey, whoever broke your heart broke it good.”

They had, but slowly, Betty knew it would heal. It had to heal because Betty didn’t think she could live the remainder of her life broken. 


	3. Tartarus…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world. 
>> 
>> \- Joanne Harris

It was a miserable Thursday all over cast and eternal gloom. 

At first New York had been all sorts of overwhelming but eventually Betty learned to love it - lumps, bumps and all. The cold nights had warmed and the days had become a little less grime filled, a little less survival driven. 

Late night shifts at the diner felt less overbearing and the smoke seemed to dissipate in light of smiles and warm hearted embraces. 

“Table seven order up!” 

Everything was slowly starting to look up and on her own two shaky legs Betty had stood. It felt like slow blooming happiness and one day potential. 

Veronica Lodge was never suppose to waltz back in - all elegant in black and flawless pearls - like nothing had ever changed. She was never supposed to smile like she hadn’t left Betty all broken and alone all those years ago. 

But she did and as Betty stood - table sevens order growing cold - the comforts of New York waned and the crushing feeling returned. 

* * * 

It felt fitting, meeting in diners. It was no less awkward than the first time and Betty wondered just who sat across the booth from her because _her_ Veronica had made it clear; _her_ Veronica had left. 

“Well this is… quaint.” 

It felt forced; like most of her life. But this time she was prepared. New York had taught her that. Veronica had taught her that. 

“Cut the crap, what are you doing here?”

The bell rang, the next order up. The latest patron stunk of intoxication, cigarette smoke and days old bile. It was the norm; it had _become_ her norm. 

“I could say the same. New York, Betty, really? This isn’t you.” 

It was all arrogance and pretentiousness. It was the Veronica Lodge that Betty had never known; all gruff edges and sharp cut jaw, elite and far above any reach Betty might have ever had. 

“Because you’d know.”

Betty could see it, the way the words clung to the tip of her tongue, daring to spill forth and open a flood gate Betty had long since patched. It ached, ripped open and reignited wounds Betty had long thought closed. 

“No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come back like this. You don’t get to pretend-”

“Pretend what, B? Pray tell what I’m pretending because I think the one pretending here is you.”

This Veronica was apt to play the fool, ignorant to the lives squandered or the chaos left in her wake. This was the Veronica who had left Betty of her own accord, chaotic and ignorant.

“Like you didn’t play a part.”

* * * 

“What are you doing?” 

The diner was a place for regulars and familiarity. Veronica Lodge was neither of those. 

“Ordering. That is what one does at these sorts of places. What are your thoughts on the onion rings? Too greasy?”

Snatching the menu away, a frown clung to her features and a erratic tick echoed in her chest. 

“No. You don’t get to.” 

There was a tsk and a condescending cluck, Veronica plucking the menu back. Over her shoulder, Betty could feel the disapproving glare of the over weight surly mannered owner. 

“I do and I will.”

* * * 

“Don’t you have better things to do than stalk me?” 

Her shift had gone later than she had expected. A handful of rowdy late night stragglers desperate to cause trouble mixed with the silent watchful eyes of Veronica Lodge had left Betty drained. All she wanted was the comfort of home, sleep and a life where Veronica Lodge had not become a reestablished fixture. 

“If you’d stop walking away I wouldn’t be.”

Rather than stop Betty lengthened her stride. 

When they had walked together down the wide lanes in Riverdale, Betty had learned to tailor her steps.

Veronica walked with a purpose born of royalty and fraught with confidence. But when they had walked alone, under the fading summer sun or after practice had come to an end, Veronica would draw to a slow crawl. Like time had slowed and nothing else mattered.

But those times had passed and Betty had learned to never tailor her steps. Because if it had ever truly mattered, they should have tried too. 

“Go back to wherever you came from. I don’t need you here.”

* * * 

The black town car was an eye sore. 

Nothing about it fit, surrounded by run down beaters, graffiti stained walls, and trash littered streets. It was like a shark floundering amidst the desert sands or an elephant drowning at sea. 

Against its smooth polished surface Veronica stood. It was never jeans, always clothes far too extravagant and far too impractical for any part of Betty’s life. 

“Where are we going?” 

Blatantly ignorant of the opened car door, the invitation or the dozens of eyes watching from all around, Betty followed down the cracked cement pad. It was a fair walking distance to the bus stop and Betty wanted to stop by the corner store before her evening shift. 

“B, wha-”

The clacking of heels sounded from behind, the tug on her arm drawing her back half a step. 

“Don’t be like this. Just get in the car.” 

As she regained the possession of her arm, Betty wondered if she had always folded, molding to the will without thought. Like every other relationship in her life, had she folded and blindly accepted, blinded by tokens of affection and affirming phrases? 

“No. I don’t know why you think you can do this.”

“Betty, you don’t belong here. This isn’t you.” 

Adjusting the strap of her travel bag Betty allowed the clamour of New York to consume her. Like she had wished so many years ago. 

“And how would you know that? You left. Maybe my mom was right about you.”

“Betty, don’t-”

“You are just trouble.” 


	4. And Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day she realized that fearless didn’t mean you had no fear, it simply meant you were brave enough to walk through your fears. She began fearlessly moving forward toward the life she wanted to live. 
> 
> Queenisms

One day she realized that fearless didn’t mean you had no fear, it simply meant you were brave enough to walk through your fears. She began fearlessly moving forward toward the life she wanted to live. 

                                                                                     Queenisms

* * *

 

As quickly as she had come, Veronica was gone.

The last Betty could recall was the decrepit cars and fractured cement sidewalks and the words she could never take back. It had arrested Veronica, cemented her in the fractures of a life Betty had almost healed.

“Table two: order up!”

And yet the tendrils of expensive perfumes and the echo of impractical heels lingered. With each order of excessively greasy onion rings and the chime of the entrance bell, Betty felt her stomach lurch.

“Hun, you okay? You aren’t lookin’ too hot.”

_Mama Tam._

Mama Tam had never judged. She had held Betty when she cried, ripe with fear and drowning in uncertainty. She had offered warm smiles, slipped her still warm sweet tarts, and ushered away the unwanted attention of patrons with rolled fliers and scornful looks when every step felt like the world might just crumble.

“It’s that gurl huh? Outta the magazine: with those dresses and ‘em heels?”

And she always seemed to know. Know why Betty had left Riverdale. Know why she had chosen New York. Know why she had clung to Veronica like a double edged sword.

“I just… She left. Again. And I…”

The side armed hug and lips pressed to her temple were more grounding than the peeling laminate beneath the soles of her shoes.  

“Oh, honey. I should ‘ave swatted that gurl while I had the chance.”

* * *

By the second week, it felt better. 

Simpler. 

Because better was the lie stuffed and dressed to impress. Nothing about it felt  _better_ and the V shaped hole Jughead had joked of felt tangible and devastating. 

The bell that chimed above the door felt less ominous and the sound of heels on peeling lament brought only the occasional recollection. Mama Tam might have also slipped in a few extra tarts and it felt a lot like a kindness Betty had forgotten under the roof of her parents.

Her parents.

Sometimes, late at night, masked by the comforts of darkness, Betty wondered. Wondered about her mother and her scrutiny, the need for obedience. About her father and his unspoken influence. About Polly and her broken smile as she looked her daughter in the eyes and only saw  _him_.

Sirens echoed in the distance. 

In New York, Betty heard  _everything_. From the night time activities of her neighbours two doors down to the hum of the electricity lines during a rain shower. Riverdale was like silence - wrapped in an intolerable blanket of masked pain and false pretenses.

By the second week, it felt better. And yet, under the guise of sleep, Betty wept. Wept for open lanes lined by broad trees; for tailored steps and robust laughter; for heels unfit for wayward walks; for a love deep like a chasm that ached like unending torture.

* * *

“-get out ‘fore I call the cops.”

The voice of Mama Tam filtered through the diner all anger mixed with authoritative. It was a voice reserved for patrons who had in some way crossed the line.

Once upon a time, Betty had flushed red to the cheeks at the leering remarks, the unwanted attempts of physical affection, or the foul use of language and rude insinuations. Now it was simply par for the course.

“Look, I don’t know who you are but if you don’t stop  _I_ will be the one calling the police!”

Par for the course, however, was not walking into her shift to Mama Tam swatting one very frustrated looking Veronica Lodge with a rolled up copy of  _The New York Daily_. It felt more like a segment out of a nightmare Betty might have had but far more crisp and a little more believable.

“No, you dun’ just get to walk back in after whatchu gone done. That sweet gurl deserves better ‘an that!”

The words warmed her heart.

“And you don’t think I know that? She-”

But it also broke, engulf by the tremor of Veronica’s bottom lip and the defeat in her shoulders. It felt surreal in the worst sort of ways.

Week three had been better. Better until Veronica reemerged and all Betty could wonder was if her lips might sooth the tremors and her trailing touch might dissolve the appearance of defeat.

* * *

Veronica had been allowed to stay.

“You gone too soft on her, hun.” 

It had never been her intention. But Veronica had begged. Begged in a way Betty had never thought she could. Knelt on grungy peeling laminate, tears held at bay, asking for just a few moments.

Mama Tam had spoken of broken promises, of pain and of protection. 

It made Veronica cower and Betty feel awe. It was brutish, Betty knew, and hardly a kind thing to do, but Veronica had never cowered: not when she had captured Betty’s heart and not when she had tossed it aside, some form of unapologetic living.

“Probably.”

From the entrance to the kitchen, Betty eyed the far corner booth. Veronica wore tussled hair and creased clothes with unthinkable grace. It was every bit concerning and yet somehow it fit.

Retreating back into the kitchen, Betty refused to suppose why. Veronica was never supposed to fit like she did. Like an annoyingly V shaped hole Betty could never fill.

* * *

Lines etched into Veronica’s skin - fatigue, stress? - and Betty yearned to cross the proverbial threshold; to sooth away the strain.

Once upon a time, under the guise of darkness, Betty had regarded the slumbering form of Veronica with enchantment. She was soft in slumber, her features unmarred by thought or responsibility. And unlike the larger than life waking presence, this Veronica had felt small, tucked into her as if they had always belonged.

But once upon a times were for fairy tales and under the dingy diner lighting, Betty had learned to stop fantasizing. 

“My shift is over.”

Like a startled doe, Veronica woke wide eyed and seemingly prepared for flight. 

Betty wondered if she had looked much the same, all those nights ago, when New York felt more isolating than loving. 

* * * 

When Betty had proposed they walk she had expected opposition, for the dark town car to materialize and for Veronica to insist all over again. 

But it never came. 

Instead, they walked in silence. Down the sidewalks marred by fissures, deep and irreparable. It was like Riverdale all over again but with broken hearts, the sounds of New York and not a tree for as far as the eye could see. 

“I don’t think your friend likes me.” 

Like was an understatement. It was more of a fond dislike that might have been eclipsed by distrust and a mother like concern. Betty wondered if her own mother would have cared the way Mama Tam cared; not all childhood memories brought to life in adult form filled with grudges and personal vendettas. 

“Mama Tam doesn’t like when people hurt me.” 

And there it was, an honesty Betty had held like a well kept secret. 

“And I hurt you.”

There were words - ushers of reassurance, of justifications - that bubbled beneath the surface and screamed for release. But Betty had spent nearly her entire life justifying, searching for the slightest sliver of light in a sea of actions that were never hers to justify. 

“You do.”

Betty clutched the strap of her bag tightly, gaze focused on some distant point, intangible yet calming. It was easier. Easier than acknowledging the way the stride beside her stuttered or the sharp inhalation of air that punctuated the relatively still air.  

“That isn’t past tense, B.”

It felt suffocating.

“It isn’t.”

* * * 

It was supposed to be just another day, marked by the smell of grease, leering remarks from the usual Thursdays, the warm laughter of Mama Tam and the odd drunk straggler who said a little too much. It was supposed to be simple. Thursdays were always simple.

“I used to love this city. All its people and the way it wrapped me in this never ending cocoon of energy. It never slept and I would stay awake until the crack of dawn in morbid fascination.”

Veronica was like a wrench, thrown carelessly into the moving spokes of life. She threw everything off kilter and left impressions that could never truly be erased. Like the broken bones no x-ray could hide. 

“I never thought I would leave.”

It was supposed to be another day and Betty was never supposed to be seated, the uncomfortable brick of some disheveled building a dozen or so yards from her apartment pressing into her back, next to Veronica Lodge listening to her regale memories Betty did not see a purpose for. Or maybe she did and Betty simply refused to acknowledge the familiar ache, the bitterness, and the raw honesty she knew Veronica rarely shared. 

Veronica was a wrench, or maybe a poison, and Betty had to never forget the way she would only leave her again. 

“Things change.”

It was all bitter laced with the poison Betty knew Veronica was and all she could ever be. Because while Betty believed things could change, Veronica couldn’t, and it was the mantra Betty repeated over and over and over all in a hopes to ease the ache in her chest and the tremors in her voice.  

“Like this?” 

The way Veronica motioned between them felt every bit as uncomfortable as the brick pressing into her back. It made all the words form in her throat in a lump and nothing but hot air slip past her chapped lips. 

“I can’t say I don’t deserve this.”

Like the fissures of the sidewalk, Veronica’s voice cracked. Nothing about it felt like the strong outward persona of the Veronica Lodge that Betty had ingrained into her memory. Instead, it looked every bit like a woman worn by life, carrying lines of fatigue that sunk far deeper than the eyes could see and speaking in a manner encumbered by a reality Betty no longer knew. 

“I guess I just imagined we’d always be B and V, no matter what. And somehow, I could come back and we could just go back to being B and V and everything would be okay.” 

Images of a distinctly V shaped hole and the years Betty had spent attempting to fill it surfaced. 

“But the last time I saw you… I realised then that it wouldn’t and I’m so sorry, B. For what I did to us, I’m sorry.” 

Holding the tears at bay, Betty could only shrug. It was that or openly weep for the way every crack in Veronica’s voice felt like a crack in her heart. 

“Me too.”


End file.
